288 BIG GAME SHOOTING IN ALASKA chap, xm 



whilst fishing with an old friend, and towards the evening 

 hour, he sat down by the river-bank, placing the rod by his 

 side. Calling his companion, he said calmly, " Old friend, 

 we have had a good day's sport. I have had a good innings, 

 but my day is done, I am going to die." He never spoke 

 again, and died shortly afterwards, just as he would have 

 wished it, "game to the last." 



The extraordinary way in which the ubiquitous English 

 sportsmen go rushing off to the uttermost parts of the 

 earth in quest of some kind of sport, is a constant source of 

 amazement to most foreigners, and to many of their own 

 countrymen, who cannot appreciate the love of a roving life. 



But it is a remarkable fact that there are many amongst 

 us who have tried all forms of sport, and to whom, whilst 

 actually engaged in any particular one of them, whether it 

 be a fast fifty minutes with a pack of hounds, the first rush 

 of a clean-run salmon and the reel screaming, the stalking of 

 some much-coveted specimen of big game, or the tearing 

 down of rocketers as they come high and fast overhead, the 

 general verdict at the time has always been, " this is the best 

 sport on earth." 



Such, indeed, I believe are the sentiments with which 

 every genuine sportsman should be imbued if he wishes to 

 get the most enjoyment out of life, and when the inevitable 

 day comes, on which the whips, rods, guns, and rifies are 

 hung on the wall for ever, when the armchair by the fireside, 

 the pipe and old diaries have become the solace of an aged 

 sportsman, and nothing remains save to live the old life over 

 again in yarns with the feet under the mahogany, such a 

 man can then point to the trophies on the wall and say to 

 those who come after him, " That meant life, go you and 

 live it." 



